Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die
by Barley Shadow
Summary: (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) Story after the movie. Duke meets up with Ema, who won't say no to a bit of acid. Off to cover a story about weapons of mass distraction. (Complete.)
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **Fear and Loathing!!!!! This isn't finished yet, but I knew without it just being a one-shot about Duke reflecting the film I had to have an OC, but I'm not sure how much I'm gonna do for this, or where exactly it's gonna go. And if anyone reads it please review! Cos I know FaL's not as well known/well loved as Pirates or Secret Window or OuaTiM, so reviews would be great! On we go. . !  
PS: Duke's quite an easy character to write, not that that means I have got any idea about any drugs, of course._

**Chapter One**

So we're driving down the highway. Me and Ema. She'd offered me a bag of grass for a ride so I thought, 'why the hell shouldn't I?' So I did. And it started to occur to me, I might have to talk to her.

"It's your turn to drive," I say, pulling sharply over to change seats. She's quite pretty, but I had a headful of acid and couldn't realize much else. She plucks the cigarette from my mouth, takes the cigarette from the holder and fills it with a joint, throwing the cigarette from the car. She hits the gas with venom. Veering all over the road man, she's gonna kill us! But in my current state I didn't realize the danger, which there could have been. I crawl over onto the backseat, and open the case. We've got 3 bags of grass, 5 sheets of high power blotter acid, a salt shaker full of cocaine, a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, screamers, laughers, also a quart of tequila, quart of rum, case of beer, pint of raw ether and more types of powder than you've ever seen. I snort some cocaine. And pass out.

I wake at a service station by the state line with the fly swatter clearly imprinted on my forehead, Ema sits in the drivers seat, head tilted back, passed out. I poke her, repeatedly, REPEATEDLY! And try to introduce myself, but all I can say is 'Duuuuuu,' in a squeaky voice.

In fact, my name is Duke, Raoul Duke, and I can say it in my head, well, actually, it was still 'Duuuuuu' in my head, but I know my name. Or maybe I don't, maybe it's the acid.

She points out the criss-cross pattern on my forehead, so I hit her with the fly swatter. I take the driving seat and turn on the engine. Whiplash. Interesting word.

Maybe I should explain why I'm here, where I'm going, _who I am? _Maybe, when I figure it out myself.

I am Raoul Duke, journalist, going to Washington DC from LA to cover a presidential speech on weapons of mass distraction, destruction. I'm making sense, the drugs must be wearing off.

So we're driving down the highway. Me and Ema. I light a cigarette and take a drag, take my hands off the wheel and wave them haphazardly above my head, whilst closing my eyes and tilting my head back. At the time it seems like a good idea, but after swerving I slowly begin to realize that maybe it wasn't such a good idea?

"So, Duuuuuu, where are you going?" Ema asks.

"This way," I reply, lowering a hand to the wheel, taking the cigarette out of my mouth. "I think you're coming round, have some of this," I hand her a bag of marijuana. "Don't gamble with marijuana in Nevada," I tell her, knowledgeably. What the fuck was I talking about? I remember the Las Vegas trip. Poor old Gonzo, took an overdose, amazingly. _'As your attorney I advise you to smoke all of it.' _Fuck yeah, man! I went to his funeral, I think.

As we're still in the part of America that's comfortably warm at night – or so my body tells me – we stop the car in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere, and fall asleep.

You'll notice I haven't described Ema much, but in the mental state that I was in I couldn't. Hair color? When I closed my eyes it was blue, and she made me feel like a rubber duck, so I didn't deserve a PhD in thinking. But I remember waking up with the cops up our ass.

"Do you realize the stupidity of what you have done?" the first one asks me, there are two. Struggling to recall anything happening in the last four days I reply, trying to imply short-term memory loss.

"What have I done?"

"You've parked in the middle of the road and gone to sleep!" the other cop says. I jump up and sit on the back of my chair, trying to think of the right words.

"We. . .officer, both have. . .syphilis? Narcolepsy!" I attempt, damn, I know I got that first one wrong.

"In that case, sir, we will have to terminate your license," the cop begins, but I slump back into the chair. Ema feigns sudden sleep, and we drive off and leave them.

Man, it was a bumpy landing back into reality from my high paradise. And there's only one way to sort _that_ problem out.

Driving across America, wind in my – limited amount of - hair, powder up my nose making me wanna sneeze, ahh, this is the life. I begin to sing, nothing with any prominent tune, probably a squealy, screeching noise to anyone living outside of my head, scrunching up my eyes and then opening them wide, Ema joins in, but she's a bit out of tune. I swat her, I don't need her two cents.

When we pull up in a very hospitable part of Washington DC, I have a better idea of what is actually going on. Jumping out of the car I give Ema the case of drugs – too risky to let them be brought up to the room, I look about suspiciously – the tape player, suitcase and typewriter, and she, slowly and swaying, follows me into the lobby, where she drops everything. Carrying the fly swatter over to check-in, I attempt to book in, but although I am more intellectual than I was behind the wheel, my name is still 'Duuuuuu.' However, the receptionist makes a good guess.

"Duke? Raoul Duke?"

"Yeeeees, Duuuuuu," I reply, leaning a little too far over the desk, her hand snakes out for the computer mouse and I swat it, ferociously. My eyes shoot up to look at hers and my legs straighten so my chin is no longer on the desk.

"Du," I announce proudly, walking immediately from the desk like a Nazi. Ema struggles over to check-in where the woman is still holding our door key, opens her mouth, waves her head from side to side, obviously implying for the woman to put the key in her mouth because she has no hands, but it took her poor, cocaine-free, fresh-air-addled mind a while to work this out.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **Second chapter of Duke and his greatness. Ahh, the American Dream. Anyway, the story's gonna really kick in next chapter, but this isn't a bad one, so get reading darlin'!_

**Chapter Two**

Sitting in the room on the top half of the bed, Ema wanted the bottom half, I wonder who she is, where she's going, what she wants, and why she is here. I only picked her up in Oklahoma, why am I sharing a bed with her? She could be a murderer, she might follow me around for the rest of my life!

"Eeeee!" I say, at the thought.

"Duke," she says from the bottom half of the bed, she's not facing me but repeatedly slaps my stomach. "Where are we?" I leap off the bed like a madman, maybe I am, kneeling on the floor my face very close to hers.

"We're not in Kansas anymore," I reply. "We're not in Kansas Toto, no ruby slippers here, no sir! We're in Oz! The land on the magical fairy-folk." This last comment is in a sing-song voice as I stand up, and hop about like a fairy, or dancing bunny. There's gotta be something wrong here.

But thank God there were no lights in this hotel! Man, Las Vegas had not been the place for a drug addict on mescaline, and we took a lot of it. And that adrenaline stuff, _zing! _That was good. I begin poking about in the case for some of it, but close the case forlornly when I discover the empty bottle. Damn, need to find new Satanist.

"We're in Washington!" I exclaim at her. "Land of the free, land of the empty, land of the ether!" I growl the last part.

"Why?"

"Why?" I stop walking towards the bathroom and turn to look at her. "Why? I dunno why the fuck you're here." I slam into the bathroom door, and ricochet off it. Then I try to open the door, and find this much more successful. Ema walks in before I've finished. . .doing my business and turns on the taps of the bath. I finish, zip up my pants and turn the taps off. "No, no no no no. No no _no_ no no no no. Baths and high-flyers don't mix! Lots of fruit, fruieeeeeeee!" She stumbles out of the bathroom and collapses on the bed, deeply asleep, shhhhhhhh.

There's a knock on the door, as Ema's clearly unable to open it, I do. Phone call.

"Hello? Yes. Yes. Well I've just got here. Yes, a presidential speech. Newspaper? Magazine. Tomorrow? No. Yeeeees. Goodbye." I drop the receiver politely back onto the phone from about sixteen or seventeen inches, missing the phone completely and falling to the floor, springing up on the cable. I slam the door in the boys face. Thank you.

Bloody speech. I gotta clean up my act, no more drugs. Gotta be responsible, gotta do my job, man, gotta make some sort of sense to the outside world. I stick my head out of the door and look about the hall, the outside world. Nope, nothing seemed to be happening in the outside world. I slam the door again, and light a cigarette, puffing quickly away on that I perch myself on the edge of the bed until I'd finished, roll up some cannabis and smoke that, take a tiny pinch of cocaine. LSD. Did we even have any LSD? We should do! The world would be a terrible place without it. Hey, what happened to responsible journalist?

But these weapons of mass distraction were another matter entirely, a very serious matter in the eyes of the law. A very serious matter in the eyes of the UE. UB. UN. Finally locating a sheet of acid I tear off a tab, and put the sheet on the table, slowly sliding the little tab into my mouth, with pursed lips. _Zing! _Great stuff! I wander around the hotel room, occasionally raising a leg, checking out all the hidey holes, plugging in the tape recorder, swatting the hundreds of flies that appear in the room. What the fuck, man? Where did they come from? I crouch slightly, hitting out at flies at random and then regaining my position. My eyes flick all over the room, flies. Flies.

"Duke, what the fuck are you doing?" Ema asks from the bed.

"Flies!" I screech. "Millions of flies, flies flies flies, flies, dahhhh!!!" swatting out at more, but they don't seem to die! Die! Die! Immortal flies of the Undead soul sent to lure me into a false sense of security. I could see washing in Washington wasn't going to be easy, where did that come from? "Damn fucker flies!" Ema tries to take the fly swatter off me, but I'm having none of that, I won't be left without any protection, although it was useful as shit on a warm day. Ema looks reasonably dull, must be wearing off, bet she's not seeing flies. She picks up the tape player and whacks it over my head. Thank you.

I wake up pretty low, and with an awful headache. I roll over, and fall off the bed. I'm still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Oh well. I find my green Las Vegas visor, hit Ema to signal wakey-wakey time and enter the bathroom, of doom.

"We've got to leave!" I shout, coming out of the bathroom. "Got to write a story!" I get to the door, Ema following.

"You're an author?" she asks, grabbing my shoulder and peering over it. We walk down the hall.

Truth was – maybe owing to the amount of grass smoked on the journey up here from LA – the presidential speech wasn't until the day after tomorrow, we'd arrived early. So where we were going now I wasn't quite sure. But I knew that after the Las Vegas story, my editor wasn't gonna accept the usual shit I produced anymore. So maybe background presidential knowledge and information was needed.

Now, Washington wasn't very warm, and I couldn't wear my shorts, which was pretty terrible, I can tell you. But somehow I managed to stumble about all day, a little high, maybe. Definitely. And in the whole day, all I managed to find out was the presidents name. Nixon.

Nixon. What kind of name's Nixon? Ema pointed out (rather inappropriately) that I should know my own presidents name, and I might do. Just not now.

But, during the day we _did _find out there's a nice little restaurant just south of the FBI building by 10th Street. Unfortunately, due to the excess of acid in the trunk, we didn't stop by for a chat.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **Okay, no hallucinations. But we're gonna find out a bit more about Ema. And, I actually have a plot for this now, I've been contemplating not really having a major plot, like the movie (unfortunately, I haven't read the book, but I will one day,) but I think I need one, so there's gonna be some kinda plot, and I'm not telling you about it yet. Thanks for all my reviews, I'm really really grateful!!!_

**Chapter Three**

It's amazing how many law enforcement agencies there are around here. US Supreme Court, US Claims Court, The Court House, FBI Building, The White House, for fucks sake! If a case full of drugs belonged anywhere, it was here. But would I be able to walk past the District Court on 4th Street, up to The Court House on 5th, then on by the FBI Building on E. Street without arousing concern? I don't think so. The drugs stay safely in the hotel, as Ema and I visit the National Museum of American Art, Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library, Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and get politely kicked out of each one.

Back at the hotel I realize how close we had come to a jail sentence, maybe it wasn't a good idea to be drugged up in the capital? Bearing this in mind, I only smoke some grass, take one tab of acid and inhale a small amount of ether. But for everything I cut back on, Ema goes over the top. I realize this might not be the best time to ask her about herself as I spoon-feed her cocaine, but at least her hair's not blue anymore, and it's not sticking up in clumps as if I'd electrocuted her. Wait. I hadn't done that before, had I? I ingest a couple of tablespoons of cocaine rapidly to try and make some sense, but all I succeed in doing is spitting a lot of it back out while my tongue flails about with a mind of its own. Scary thought. The presidential speech was tomorrow, and I half knew that I hadn't be too high for it. I was also half aware of a warm feeling encompassing my pants. I jump off the bed like a bunny and make my way to the bathroom, but by then it's too late, and all is lost.

In preparation for tomorrow, I give Ema some more cocaine, hoping I can leave her passed out in the hotel room while I'm out. I also shower down the bathroom, if you're going to do anything, you gotta have a clean bathroom.

I change ready for bed and slip under the covers of the top half of the bed. I put a cigarette in my mouth and light up, staring at the ceiling.

"You know tomorrow I'm gonna ask you who you are," I tell Ema. "And you'd better know your own name."

I wake up, visor dug into my head and cigarette holder stuck in my mouth. That'll teach me for wearing my visor to bed, I think the bucket hat would be more comfortable. Scrabbling around in the bathroom I spot the word 'Ea' scrawled across my forehead in black, almost indescribable handwriting. Hmm. Missing an m. Or two m's. I amble back into the bedroom, flicking water at Ema and frantically scrubbing my head. I couldn't be seen with the president with 'Ea' across my head. It could stand for, 'extra alien,' 'enamel ambiguity,' 'elephant awareness,' fuck I didn't know!

"Did you do this to me?" I yell in her ear. "Did you do this you ungrateful little shit!"

"Ema," she manages to pronounce.

"Good," I say. "I'm glad we got that sorted out," putting my cigarette to my mouth, and wandering about the room. "Headache?"

"From hell," she agrees, rubbing her eyes.

"Good, now do you remember why you're here?" I ask, placing my bucket hat on my head. I could spend a short few hours of my life without drugs. Hell I was doing it now.

"Got any peanuts?" Ema asks, standing by me. Maybe I could be the responsible one?

"No, do you remember why you're here?" I repeat, I give her a few seconds to think, to try and piece together the flashbacks I knew she was having, without the aid of a tape player for special music.

"American Dream," she finally works out. Shit.

"Then in that case, you are in deep piles of poo, young lady. Where's your partner?"

"Michigan, maybe." Damn. I knew the American Dream, we'd been buddies a while back, I'd lived it long enough. I knew if she was searching for the American Dream she'd come to the wrong place. I begin to groan and amputate her legs with the plastic end of the fly swatter.

"Well, the American Dream is that way," I exclaim, pointing in a random direction. "And if you're lucky, all you'll figure out is the 60's are over, time moves on, and no one was right, otherwise we'd still be there. If you're not, you'll wander round a Las Vegas casino for two weeks, outta your skull, spend a day in Baker, terrorize innocent waitresses, and grow dinosaur tails. I've been there, I've lived the American Dream," I quieten down a little. "You're not missing out on much," I admit.

And it was true. It'd all happened to me, for better or worse. And I hadn't learnt much. At the time it had been great, the circus, the ape, Baker even, but in retrospect, it had been awful. And we sat at the back of that conference taking drugs and no-one noticed.

We thought we could achieve whatever we wanted to, whatever we set our minds to, and the only thing stopping us was ourselves. But now we know, we all know, that there's always laws, and ethics, and people just ready to get in the way of that Dream. That Dream which we all chase for so long, and never achieve.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **More hallucinating for Isabela, he just wouldn't be Duke without them. There's gonna be six chapters to this story, I've decided (I've also finished writing them.) Enjoy. . ._

**Chapter Four**

I couldn't leave Ema in the hotel. It just wasn't ethically right, man. So we both took a little trip to see the President give his little speech so we could all go home.

That would have been nice. But this speech bored the shit outta me! I was taking acid nearly as soon as I sat down, and Ema wasn't too far behind me. Weapons of mass distraction this, weapons of mass distraction that, weapons of mass distraction my ass. Fuck! Slightly high, I turned to my left (Ema was sitting on my right.)

"You haven't got a camel, have you Ema?" I ask. The woman temporarily inhibiting Ema's body looks to me, leans forward right to my face, and slurs,

"No." That's not Ema's voice! I turn to my right, there she is! To my left, there's two! Twooooo. God, what's happening to me? Back to my left.

"Well if there's no camels how are we to get about in this desert terrain?" I ask, a little loudly, as the Ema sitting directly in front of me turns round and shhh's me. I look back to Left Ema, she's putting acid in her mouth. I turn to Right Ema, who I think is the original one, but I can't be sure. She's looking, bored, at the President's face on the screen. I look up, Ema's delivering the President's speech, now why the fuck is that? God, what's wrong with the world??? One Ema I can just about cope with, the drug taking, the Dream, the bottom half of the bed. Left Ema, Right Ema, Front Ema and President Ema? How the world wasn't ridden with shark-infested camels I didn't know. As I look back to Ema, the original one, or so I believe, her nose walks amiably across her face. Sure, I can't see the nose's legs, but how else would it move, to her ear, to her forehead?

There's gotta be something wrong.

And what's President Ema saying? I have a vague feeling I should be listening to her, but right now I just want to stand up on my chair, beat my chest like a gorilla, and crow like a cockerel. I begin to get up to do this dreadful deed, when Right Ema pulls me down. As I lay on the floor, I look up to Left Ema, who's growing brown hair and a moustache. Right Ema, blonde, pretty, the Ema I've always known. Left Ema, brunette, facial hair, I make a tiny squeak. The man sitting behind where I should be sitting leans over the chair I should be sitting in and asks me to be quiet, his features are quite Ema-like. I kneel on the chair, holding the back with both my hands looking directly at him.

"Flob."

Right Ema pulls me round the right way and holds my wrist.

"Rape!" I feebly whisper. "Rape!" Left Ema pokes my back and I turn to her. Wow, now I know why women shave their facial hair. She offers me a tiny sheet of paper, about the size of a stamp with a crude drawing on of a lady and a man, well. . .

Paper? Why the fuck would I want paper? I flick it out of her hand, she bends down to get it and a repeatedly stamp my foot. Right Ema takes the stamp from Left Ema.

"Duke? Duuuke?" she asks me, I look straight at her, my head swimming a bit, and obediently open my mouth. Right Ema feeds me the paper. Tastes of limes. Limes? We didn't have any limes! As I look, Left Ema's moustache slowly disappears and she turns into a completely different person. A rather ugly person. Fuck, man! Had I been talking to her? I saw her take a tab of acid. She's just like me. I poke her.

"Duuuuuu," I say.

"Duuu_uuuuuu_uuuu?" she asks.

"Duuu_uuuuuu_uuuu," I agree.

"Michelle," she says, very slowly. "Habard Times." Times? Times what? I look to the clock on the wall by President Ema, she was still there. Four fifty. Four fifty?!?! What was I doing here? We needed to be gone! I take Right Ema's hand and Left Ema/Michelle's hand and pull them both from the conference room, leaving President Ema high and dry on her own. We get out to the parking lot, passing several camels and sand dunes on the way, battling against the elements, taking long strides, our heads dipped towards the wind. We get to the car. I start it up, and away we go.

"Excuse me? Excuse me?" Michelle asks, man, she sure hit some ugly branches being dropped by the stork. And how can she take all that acid and not be affected? What kind of word was 'excuse me?'? "I know, this might sound a little improper, but where are we going?"

"Baltimore," I say without a care in the world. "We shouldn't be in there, Ema's gonna ravage the world with weapons of mass distraction, and we need to be gone! If we get to Balllllll," I halt on the syllable. "Timore, we'll be fine." Michelle nods, sits back in the backseat, opens her bag and takes out some more acid. Well, she'll be fine for the trip. I begin to wonder where Baltimore is. This way? This way will have to do. Habard Times? It starts to dawn on me that the Habard Times is a magazine, not unlike mine. Michelle's a reporter! A reporter with a headful of acid, why do I recognize this? I lean to Ema sitting in the passenger seat.

"Co," I say, drawing out the 'o'. "Co." She seems to understand what I'm saying, after all, 'co' is a recognized word in the American dictionary, 'excuse me,' that was a totally different matter.

Driving down the highway I feel like I'm just setting out, me and Ema, she'd offered me a bag of grass for a ride so I thought, 'why the hell shouldn't I' I switch lanes, a little dangerously. I see Michelle laying horizontal on the backseat, passed out. Ema climbs over her, looking in the trunk for some 'co'. I don't slow down, I don't need to. Ema gets back into the passenger seat, taking a tiny bit of cocaine on her finger and putting it under my nose. I sniff. Mmm. Mmm_mmm_mmm. Again I switch lanes. Baltimore. I see a road sign for Baltimore. Ballllllltimore. We take the Baltimore road.

Suddenly, there comes the long, slow, stumble back to reality, that cocaine hadn't lasted long! I feel a little light-headed, so I pull over onto the side of the highway for a moment. Ema offers to drive for a while, and so I accept. I climb over onto the backseat with Michelle, the unsightly brunette.

I can't be mean to her, it's not her fault she was born to two extremely ugly people and had to inherit some of her jeans. And maybe she could have been uglier. However, at this precise moment, I couldn't care less about her unsightly appearance. I quickly fall asleep almost on top of her, both struggling to share the seat.

We wake up in Baltimore. Well, it has to be Baltimore. Ema's parked the car in a parking lot. And Baltimore doesn't look too bad. But we can't all sleep in the car for the night. Why are we here? Oh well, questions will have to wait til we're all in a stable state of mind, which is not now. Lets find a hotel.

Eventually we find a hotel, it's a little run down inside but it's got beds and bathrooms so its alright. Me and Ema share one bed, I take the top half, naturally. Michelle takes the other bed, neither of us wanted to share with her. More aware of the world than I was in DC, but not totally, I fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **OMG vanillafluffy reviewed my stooooooooory! I llllllike your stuff sweetie! Nope, nothing wrong with meeeee. Thank you Dawnie-7, reviews from reaaaally big fans are sooooo nice! And Livvy Depp for kickstaaaaarting my ass into finishing this. And Isabela Pucini for being my fiiirst reviewer and writing so muuuch. Thank you for all my revieeeews!_

_I can't find any other Fear and Loathings, does anyone know of any??? Am I the only one? 'Can they hear me?'_

**Chapter Five**

I'm vaguely aware of something warm touching me. I assume it's Ema, and we've just shifted sleeping places a bit. I roll completely over, and find myself staring at Michelle. A sleeping Michelle. A naked, sleeping Michelle. I quickly and quietly peer down at myself. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I look over to the other bed, Ema's not there. Where is she? The bottle of ether is placed precariously on the bedside table, lid off, nearly empty. God, what some people do for a good time.

I slide out of bed, and quietly get dressed. Placing a cigarette in my mouth I look back at Michelle. How the fuck _did_ that happen? I mean, I don't remember anything. Maybe it was all her, maybe she lured me into her bed using a massive overdose of ether?

No, I don't think so. Surprisingly able to collect my thoughts, knowing how much of something I had to have taken last night to do, to do. . ._that deed_, with _that person._ Ema must have taken the ether, and now she's gone.

I pack everything as silently as I can into the case, open the hotel room door, and shut it quietly behind me. I sigh, a sigh of relief, I believe. I light the cigarette and turn to leave the hotel, stumbling over Ema as I go.

She's lying curled up in a ball outside the hotel room, the stars and stripes flag resting just in her hand, still damp. Ah, fuck it. I pick it up and take a deep, deep breath, I'm gonna need it. I shake Ema awake, using my thumb to open her eyelids. Darn, her eyes are pretty dilated, she's gonna be out for a while. As quietly as I can, I put the case down, roll her over and pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, supporting her legs, and take up the case again. It's early morning, there's not many people about, there's a few cleaners and hotel staff, but that's it.

I take Ema out to the car, I'll leave Michelle, argh, Michelle. I shudder. I'll leave Michelle to check out when she waits up. But that didn't take long. As I slide into the drivers seat, I take a last look at Ema, lying sprawled out on the backseat of the car, and then, try and find the keys. Just as I do, Michelle comes out of the front door of the hotel, clad only in her undergarments, waving a screaming like a lunatic.

"Argh!" I exclaim, trying desperately to get the keys into the car. I turn on the engine, as Michelle comes up and hits me on the shoulder. "Nehhhhh." The car begins to move, and we leave her behind.

God, what the fuck happened there? I went to sleep, I wake up naked in someone else's bed? Gotta be drugs involved, I look over to the case sitting on the passenger seat, taking the ether soaked flag out of my pocket and take a breath.

We get onto the freeway. That's it. That must have been what happened, she drugged me, used me, and then expected me with be with her? Now, she was left, and I was happy. Trying to remember the previous day's events gets me thinking about why we're in Baltimore. Sure it's a lovely place, but I have no use here. Baltimore, Baltimore, Baltimore. Something about camels. I swerve back onto the road, after carelessly drifting over the other lane, and then nearly off the road altogether. God, could have caused an accident man! Thank you the roads are pretty free this cold and horrid morning.

So, I slept with Michelle, nothing I can now do about it. I was in Baltimore, nothing I can do about it, I'm going back to DC, that's fine. That's good. What was I in DC for? This question took a while, as I had consumed a very large amount of illegal substances and couldn't remember really past putting Ema in the car this morning. I take another breath of ether, presidential speech! See? I knew it'd come back to me. So, had the speech taken place already? Yes, yes it had. There had been multiple Ema's, and that, was how we had met Michelle. I turn on the stereo and some form of metal rock music blasted out of it. I squeak, and hastily turn it down a little.

I was screwed. I'm in Baltimore, I completely missed the speech, I haven't got anything for my editor. God knew he was trying to contact me at that moment, find out where his Goddamn story was. I didn't have a story. So I'd have to make it up. Right.

President Nixon, talking about weapons of mass distraction. That had been the theme, or so I remember. So here we go.

President Nixon today spoke his speech. No. President Nixon yesterday presented his speech on weapons of mass distraction. That was a good starting point. Then what? What the fuck had this speech actually been about? How weapons of mass distraction were in the Middle East? How they were bad? I'll talk about both. I take a pen from the car and turn my head so I'm looking at my hand straight. With one hand on the wheel and one holding the pen, I attempt to scribble Middle East on the back of my hand, but as I do we veer over the side of the road and come to a halt, and I have a squiggle on my hand up to my elbow.

I start the car again and get back onto the road. A few minutes later, Ema begins to come round. She sits up, her hair flying about in the wind. Clumsily, she gets onto the passenger seat, flinging the case onto the backseat.

"You alright?" I ask her. She shakes her head and rests it on her knees for a moment. I take glances at her whenever I can take my eyes off the road, and there's a few more cars about now. "There's peanuts in the case somewhere, if they'll bring you down," I offered my knowledge. Gonzo had put them there when he was sane, for personal use the morning after we had fallen asleep completely stoned in LA. But we had never used them.

Ema turns to the backseat and fumbles around for the peanuts. Y'know, there's something about her. She was pretty, so my stoned-self liked her, she had a personality like mine when we were both feeling alright. And looks aren't everything, but good looks and good personality is, right? There was something about her that made me bring her with me on this trip, and not leaving her behind like Michelle. But Michelle _was _me. She'd find a guy hitchhiker, take him about on her quest for stories for her magazine. She was exactly like me, and opposites attract, not the same things. Ema sat back down in the front seat, pouring peanuts into her mouth.

"Did we get the story?" she asks. I look to her.

"No, we didn't get the story. I can hardly remember anything about the speech, Washington DC, or anything, you?"

"Only a little."

"Well, with your little and my little then we might get something. I remember weapons of mass distraction," I tell her.

"Destruction," she butts in.

"No, no. Definitely distraction. And something about the Middle East. And weapons of mass distraction," I muse.

"The President was talking about," Ema waves her hands about a bit, searching for inspiration. "About. . ."

"About?"

"About, weapons of mass distraction in the Middle East, how we should deal with weapons of mass distraction in the Middle East, without going to war with the Middle East, Vietnam?" she asks.

"You're right!" I exclaim.

Together, for the next hour and a half, we piece together what had been said at the speech, and anything we had forgotten we made up. So it mostly made sense, but there was a little of the insane in the story. And riding back to DC and then to LA with Ema, I felt that I was glad I'd been on this trip. I'd had an experience, a good experience, and I was glad I'd picked her up at the side of the road, and I was glad we stayed together in Washington, glad we'd both gone to the speech. And I realized that I did have feelings for her. Not deep, gushy feelings, but friendship, and respect. Hopefully something we'd both have for a long time in the future.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: **Last one!_

**Chapter Six**

I wasn't sure where to leave Ema, seeing as I'd only picked her up in Oklahoma, not where I'm going. But seeing as she was obviously higher than I was at that moment, I decided on her behalf to take her back to LA. I'm sure she can make her own way back.

She currently had her mouth wide open, hand in the air and was sitting stock-still. Occasionally I'd poke her to make sure she was still alive, and she'd move a little, like the street performers in Covent Garden, London, England. I'd only been once, hadn't been much so I've never gone back.

We cross the state line doing 96 miles an hour, welcome to California, man!

The Editor can have his story tomorrow. Now, I really want to change out of my these shorts that I've been wearing about 90 of the trip, fuck, man, they could probably walk home by themselves.

We pass the beaches, Santa Monica etc. Ema coming out of her statue trance.

"Where are we?" she asks.

"Where _are_ we? We're nearly home," I tell her.

"This isn't home," she says.

"It's my home," I reply. "You weren't able to make a decision about your home so you're at mine."

"Right."

We get back to the typical American house on the typical American street, looking a little worse for wear, us and the house. We take out my bags and load them into the garage.

---

The next day, we both go to see the Editor, and decide in the car that we'd sort out Ema's little location problem after that.

The meeting wasn't very long. Mostly consisted of the words 'no!' 'why?' and 'fuck you!'

Fucking asshole turned down my story, man! Said he didn't need it now, rejected it, not good enough, not in the deadline.

I'll show him. I'm not a doctor of journalism for nothing, man!

I get back out into the hall, Ema's sitting on a chair along the wall. I'm still tightly holding my finished story in my hand, the love for it after being rejected, disowned, unwanted, heightened.

"He didn't want it," I say to Ema. She stands up to console me. We had a short hug to share our feelings, I nearly had a few tears.

"It's ok Duke," she says.

"I know," I reply, I take her hand and we both walk a little disjointedly out of the building. We get to the sidewalk outside and both pause.

"Where to now?" she asks me.

"Dunno." Then, after a few seconds I offer, "Acid?"

_**A/N: **So, there you are. The last of Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die. Will there be more? I don't know. Thank you sooo much for ALL the reviews! I am really really happy with them._

_Lots of love_

_Silver Bell_

_xx_


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